


the moment is yours

by twistedingenue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Barton and the search for outdated weapons, F/M, Fresh Starts, Olympics, Summer Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 05:34:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7832335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedingenue/pseuds/twistedingenue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton, face of US Archery, decides to take on a new challenge with the modern pentathlon. He wasn't expecting to find someone  quite like Darcy at his new training facility.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the moment is yours

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to [awww-brain-no](http://awww-brain-no.tumblr.com/) for a wonderful beta.

**2013**

“You want to what?” Coulson asks, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes because Clint Barton has to be going out of his mind right now. Must be. Because the two-time Olympic Archer, celebrated with multiple gold medals and leader of the US Archery team has just announced that—

“I want to switch events. Modern pentathlon.” Clint announces, trying to charm Coulson with every inch of his being. “I can shoot. I run. I swim. I know how to ride horses. Why not?”

“Because you are the face of US Archery? Because you are the only face of US Archery that anyone wants to see?”

Clint looks past his longtime coach and friend, “And I can be the face of the modern pentathlon too. I’m bored, Phil. I’m the best there is in men’s archery. Let Kate be the fresh face.”

“You need to find a horse, “ Coulson says, “I can’t supply you with one of those. And you’ll keep up your normal training and select competitions. If you can’t hack it enough to stay at the training center, I’m switching you back. I don’t want you to risk your stipend.”

“I can get a horse. I’ll need a fencing coach, my background with that is pretty light, just fooling around, but I can get good. You’ll see!” Clint breaks into a big grin.

Stark has a horse. Stark has numerous horses and more than willing to bankroll Clint’s training, and Pepper is more than happy to share her space. “It’s about time, she says, adjusting Clint’s helmet after one of his very first runs, “The last time I ran through this course with you, you nearly beat me.”

“You don’t only do dressage, not jumping” Clint teases, “That’s not saying much.” But he knows how serious Pepper is about finding talent. She’s always encouraged his riding after they became friends at the last Games, when she caught him sneaking around the stables. He’d always thought she might offer him a job after his competition days were over. 

“You’ve been riding horses as long as I have.”

His story was plastered end to end during every Olympics he’s competed at. It’s compelling, unless you are actually living it. Foster kid moved from home to home before one stuck, but still wanted him out of their hair, so he was enrolled in an after-school circus program. He pulled a bow one day to learn trick shooting for a sideshow act and that was it, he was in love. Riding came with arching for a dynamic act. Trick shots. Trick Riding. He was talented at both. 

His awkward costuming and face played nearly every hour for weeks. There was video. There were photos. But while he learned how to ride, he was scouted for US Archery and that was it. Turned eighteen and went from foster home to college, where he did a bullshit degree and took the archery world by storm.

But sometimes, it was hard for people to remember he was an athlete beyond his quiver. Pushing his body to its limits was always something he could do when his mind wouldn’t quiet, and he could do that in ways other than hitting a target. Archery is physically demanding but the type that he could feasibly compete at the Olympic level clear into his 40’s.

If he wants to prove himself, he needs to do it now. 

Pepper smiles, “I could do show jumping.”

Clint can’t help it, “Eventing. I dare you to do all three events. I’m switching everything, you can add two, easy.”

Pepper goes a bit distant, mulling it over, looking back at the barn and calculating the additional training that she and her horse, Iron Rescue, would need to compete in jumping and cross-country. But her lips set firmly, “You’re on, Barton.”

* * *

**2014**

It’s the greatest upset in the US Olympics world when Clint packs his bags and moves from Chula Vista to Colorado Springs. Coulson goes with him, coordinating his move and his training as Clint travels from competition to competition. He’s still a little weak in fencing, but most Americans are, so it’s not unexpected. It’s why he’s gone to Colorado Springs. He can travel to practice with Arrow’s Luck. Stark should have never let him name his horse.

But he’s strongest in shooting, which the committee likes. His riding is top notch and he’s a solid runner and swimmer. He’s quickly becoming a favorite to qualify and to do well. So he moves, and it comes as an invitation so training fees and room and board are waived. Which is good, because he’s had to quit his retail job again. His endorsement deals still pay him a small steady income, which keeps him afloat. He’s not that sad to not be working at Dick’s and holding his tongue around customers.

But that stipend he gets for being an Olympic Athlete. Coulson’s right, he can’t lose it.

* * *

It’s the twinge in his calf that freaks him out. At first, he thinks nothing of it. This type of training is different than what he’s used to, there’s bound to be adjustment issues. But a few days later the soreness hasn’t gone away and he winces after a lunge and sees that his left calf just does not look right compared to the other, as if there was a bruise trying to bubble up beneath his skin.

Doc Foster is a strangely absentminded physiologist, but she runs her tests and listens and tells him it’s…just a strain. “You just keep aggravating it with your training schedule. You need to rest it.” 

Clint starts to balk. Resting is not a thing he can do.

“You will rest it. I’ll send the orders to your training team. Go hang out with that trampolinist Romanoff. She’s here on a forced rest too and I know you like her.” Foster looks at him with just a hint of suggestion.

Yeah, that’s a rumor that will never ever die. They’d met at one of those meet and greet the public events after the last Games, where she’d taken the bronze, and their training schedules overlapped frequently. He’s as close to Natasha for all that the lives of two competitive athletes could allow. But their relationship wasn’t a romance like the media claimed, but more an instant connection of partners in crime. So he rolls his eyes at Foster, who thankfully gets the damn hint and changes the subject. She scribbles on a piece of paper and holds it out to Clint.

“Take this to Darcy out front, and she’ll arrange a course of PT for you. You’ll be back in full training in no time. Stick to shooting for right now.”

“Stick to shooting,” Clint echoes as he leaves, “Shooting is the easy part.”

“You have to keep working on the easy shit, too,” The woman out front says, holding out her hand for the scrap of paper, “Easy doesn’t equal winning.”

This must be Darcy. She almost looks out of place in the training facility. Most everyone is either an athlete or a former athlete, and when young, they still look it. Even Foster holds the look of a woman who happily competed until she hit her peak. Darcy…doesn’t. That’s not a slight at all, she’s…just a blip. A non-athlete living and working among them.

“It does however mean I can spend more time on the hard events, though. I can shoot with my eyes closed and hit center. I can’t fence that way and I’m sure as hell keeping my eyes open while I’m on a horse.”

 

Usually When Clint ventures out into the real world, his casual mention of the disparate events he has to train for — the gentlemanly, cavalry officer’s arts are met with a moment of disbelief. Just add dancing and a ready wit and he’s ready for a historical romance novel. 

Darcy just checks something off on her computer, “Okay, so Barton, right? Pentathlon, then. Let’s pull up your schedule.”

Clint doesn’t even know his own schedule, “Uh, sure….”

“You got a preference? For your PT?”

“Not here. I had Patrick on speed dial back at Chula Vista, but I don’t know anyone here. Who’s good?”

“I am.” Darcy asserts, “But I’m also exceptionally booked, so it won’t be with me. I’ll put you with Juanita.”

She has really pretty hair. She’s got it pulled back in a ponytail, and it cascades over her shoulder. And her mouth is just fascinating, wide and expressive. Darcy’s just really pretty. He hadn’t meant to come to the training center and find someone really pretty.

Shit.

This isn’t a bad thing. He’s had relationships. With other adults. Who were also athletes and understood that there’s the athletes who get married and then the athletes who married their training. And that Clint mostly belonged to the latter. His longest lasting relationship is with Coulson, who picked him out of a line of archers and said he was the one that could make it.

Shit. Is his longest lasting relationship really with his coach?

Anyways, Darcy is really pretty. Maybe that can be enough for now. He doesn’t have to pursue her and sweet talk her into bed. She can be pretty and sarcastic and just not in reach while he’s still married to competition.

“Ok.” He says, because he’s very smooth like that.

Darcy’s lips twitch and laughter bubbles up out of her throat, something hearty and sweet, “Oh honey, you feel a little lost here, don’t you?”

Colorado Springs isn’t Chula Vista. It’s not Stark’s place in Malibu. It’s certainly not Buttfuck, Iowa where he came from.

“A little, I think it’s the mountain air. It can’t be that good for you being so high up.”

Darcy smiles and walks over to the printer, writing quickly on the top sheet, “You know, people pay good money just to simulate the high altitude in their training.” she folds over the papers. “This has your updated schedule.”

“Some people.” Clint scoffs and takes the printout from her when she walks back.

“I’ll see you later, Clint Barton.”

He is so fucking screwed.

* * *

He’s reminded of how screwed he is every time he walks in the door. Darcy is a physical therapist, but she’s more Foster’s liaison between the center, the other PTs and those who aren’t engrossed in the science of sport. He’s not sure how that happened. He asks Darcy about it and she’s not sure how it happened either. 

“I just kinda showed up and saw something that needed fixing. I like fixing things. And people,” She had said as Clint waited for his appointment. He comes twenty minutes early just so he could talk to her. It’s twenty blissful minutes every few days where training is off the table and no one asks about the Olympics, except maybe when Clint gushes about his horse, Arrow’s Luck.

“How the hell do you have your own horse? You’re an Olympic athlete. You get a stipend of like, five thousand a year and a part-time job at Dick’s Sporting Goods. You can’t own a horse. The horse has a better shot of owning you.” Darcy is mostly joking, but it’s also true. If Clint didn’t have his endorsements, if he hadn’t befriended Tony Stark when Clint stuck around after his first games to cheer Team USA at the Paralympics, standing next to Pepper during the sailing competition, or if he didn’t have Coulson making sure Clint got scholarships for the training facilities — he wouldn’t be able to do what he does.

“Really, it’s more I got to name her and train with her so that Potts can have another winning horse in her stables,” Clint admits. “But also, I’m like super cool and everyone wants to spend time with me.”

If he can make Darcy smile like that every time he has to come through physical therapy, it would be worth getting hurt every day for.

* * *

**2015**

 

Fuck training. Fuck new goals and new sports, and fuck the Olympics. Fuck getting hurt while in the fucking pool. While doing a fucking flip turn and slapping his heels against the pool.

The only bright spot? 

“I have an open spot,” Darcy says, “So looks like I’m going to get you back on your, uh, feet.”

“You are very funny.”

“I know and you are going to benefit from it. Keeping yourself in positive spirits is instrumental to the healing process. For your heels.”

“Look, I’m not giving up my place as the mayor of Puntown, so you might as well not even try.”

It’s two weeks of pain at Darcy’s mercy. Clint hates every moment, except for each moment that Darcy presses her bare hands on his ankle and asks if it is “Achilling” him today. It helps. It helps a lot.

Except for the fact that he’s losing precious time. He’s just not sure if he means training time before the lead-up to qualifications or to asking Darcy out.

This is his last Olympics. He’s sure of it. He’s spent his life testing his body and stretching it past it’s limits and while he could keep going, he wants to have a body left afterwards.

* * *

**2016**

_“And here we have the wild card entry, Clint Barton, who until three years ago was only known for his archery prowess. Some men just get restless, and apparently Barton is one of them.”_

_“Barton’s expected to do well at the combined event — they don’t call him Hawkeye for nothing, and no one can doubt his general athleticism. Everyone’s seen the photos of him and Steve Rogers, the current world record holder for the decathlon, training together and challenging each other. That seems to be Barton’s strength, finding people and challenging them. He’s brought Potts back to show jumping.”_

_“It makes you wonder who is teaching him to fence!”_

_“He’s being tight-lipped, but he’s been showing quite well at those events. Solid. Have you ever asked him about his untapped talent at fencing?”_

_“I caught up with him last night, and he said, and I’m quoting here, ‘I’ve always been fond of outdated weaponry’ which I guess sums up Clint Barton.”_

_“Well, we shall see how he stacks up against the competition here at the Pan American Games right after we take a quick break.”_

* * *

“Ugh, why are you watching that video, Darce.” Barton tries to cover up her laptop screen, showing him falling off his horse in warmups at Pan-American. He had hit the ground hard enough that he’s been on the massage table almost daily since qualifications. Banner’s a former weightlifter, who now leverages his strength on athletes’ poor abused muscles.

“Because the commentary is amazing and so is the way you come out of falling with a roll, like you meant to do that.” Darcy moves his fingers. “Who has been teaching you fencing anyways?”

Banner digs in on Clint’s glutes, a blend of discomfort and relief that characterizes so much of everything that takes care of Clint’s body.

“Romanoff.”

“I don’t know —wait, you mean Natasha Romanoff? Doesn’t she compete in the trampoline?”

“Yeah, but you should see her with anything pointy. She’s terrifying.” Clint grins through a wince, looking at Darcy. She’s entirely unconcerned that he’s practically naked if it weren’t for the drape and being worked on by a great burl of a man.

“Hey, you qualified, through. So I’ll see you at Rio, yeah?” Darcy says, “I’m getting to travel with the team — with the weightlifters, actually.”

“Ew. Big and sweaty and — OW! Banner!“ Barton winces at the sudden and terrible dig of knuckles between his shoulder blades.

“I didn’t hear you say that, now did I?” Banner says with a hint of sainthood about him.

“No. Weightlifters are dainty and smell like roses.” Clint replies and Banner returns to only the usual sort of blessed pain.

“I was thinking, if my schedule allows, I could come watch you when you compete. It’s a one day format, right?” Darcy says, biting her lip, catching the edge and holding it while she waits for Clint to answer.

It’s so damn cute, with her glasses, and her hair up and a little frizzy around the edges, softening and blurring the light behind her, that Clint almost forgets to answer. At least until Banner digs in again to bring him out of his trance.

“Two days — fencing one day, then women and men’s. Yes, please come. It would…you cheering me on would be the best thing.”

Darcy looks over him to Banner, who probably coordinates the weightlifting support schedule, and then Darcy just grins. She’ll be there.

* * *

Clint’s going into the combined run and shoot in fourth, which he’s pretty proud of. Jumping was a little wobbly for him, the unfamiliar horse causing him just a little trouble. His fault and a gap in his training. There’s room to medal. This is his best event. It’s just running and shooting. Two things he’s excelled at since he can remember.

That’s when he sees her. In the stands, next to Potts and Stark, one hand massaging the other. He’s seen her off and on throughout the games. She’s been busy, the lifters have been prone to minor injuries and she’s been working almost constantly. Fingers must be tired, her strength and knowledge going to help the athletes. But she’s made it today. To watch him. 

Clint can win this.

He has time before they start. He goes up to the stands, and just calls out her name until she sees him and rolls her fucking eyes. “Come here!” he says, and if that wasn’t enough, motions with a broad gesture, using up precious energy that he’s going to need very soon.

Darcy’s cheeks blush, but she rises and shakes her head as she comes down the stands to lean over the railing, “What do you want, Barton?”

“If I win, will you go on a date with me?” He says, his voice shaking with too much adrenaline.

 

“You don’t have to win a medal to ask me out, idiot.”

“Yeah, but it’s bit romantic, don’t you think?” Clint’s grinning, he’s got to get himself under control to have enough gusto to get him through the runs, and to steady his hands.

“Go win me a gold, Clint, and I’ll give you a kiss.” She pushes on his shoulders to turn him around, “Big one. Right in front of the cameras.”

Well, with a reward like that….

* * *

_“We don’t talk much about modern pentathlon. With all the events, there’s something about the sport that’s just a bit outdated. But maybe old-fashioned is due for a comeback if the events after the Combined Run and Shoot are anything to go by. Here we can see Clint Barton, moments after the points are shown and he’s confirmed to have catapulted his way from fourth to first. He didn’t take even a moment — he ran to the stands and met with a young woman from the audience and well, this is going to be the next viral photo.”_

It really is. The photo is everywhere for the last few days of the Olympics. But Clint doesn’t care about that. The taste of victory and the way his fingers glided over the soft and hidden skin on the back of Darcy’s neck, pulling her down, the salt of the Brazilian heat on her lips, it’s still sweeter than biting his gold medal on the podium.

**Author's Note:**

> You can always find me at my tumblr [ twistedingenue](http://twistedingenue.tumblr.com)
> 
> For the Record:  
>  **Tony** Paralympic Sailing (single keel)  
>  **Pepper** Dressage and now Eventing  
>  **Natasha** Trampoline  
>  **Bruce** Former Weightlifter  
>  **Steve** Decathon  
>  **Thor** Does not compete for the US, but competes in the Hammer Throw for Denmark.


End file.
